


the waves that take my breath away

by asterions



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Codependency, Developing Relationship, F/F, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2019-01-04 17:00:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12173058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asterions/pseuds/asterions
Summary: Sometimes, in their cozy little apartment, Yumeno Himiko watches Harukawa Maki knit.





	the waves that take my breath away

**Author's Note:**

> sometimes you gotta post really shitty fic early in order to bury cursed content you know how it goes
> 
> prompt for vee, who requested shiromaki. the prompt, which i chose myself, is "things you've taken up in their absence."
> 
> assumes you've finished the endgame of v3. happy reading!

the waves that take my breath away

* * *

 

It isn’t until 3am that Yumeno Himiko trudges from the bedroom to see Maki on the couch, her long pigtails draping over the cheap plastic leather, red scrunchies loose and touching the floor. Quickly, quietly, she pockets them and tiptoes around her.

 

But nothing gets past the SHSL Assassin, of course, and Himiko doesn't have the time to prepare enough equipment or MP for a teleportation skill.

 

“Yumeno. Why are you sneaking around me?” Maki asks, as her hands fumble around an ocean of navy-blue yarn in some sort of quick, repetitive manner Himiko quickly gives up on watching. Instead, she looks at the where the crease of Maki’s brows should be and finds nothing, for some reason.

 

“I guess the old aunties put their magic into knitting, too…”

 

Maki’s ears perk, catching only the tail end of the words before she realizes what Himiko is musing about. “I guess so, if the magic is hard work. Nothing comes easy. I’m sure your auntie has her own battle scars, too,” she hums, frowning a little as she lifts her fingers from the needle to display sharp, thin cuts.

 

Himiko’s guess is that Maki tried to blunt force those dull wooden needles at first and ended up with her own little scratches before she realized it was probably all about precision instead. The thought makes her feel a little warm, like what Angie’s God gave to her a long, long time ago, and instead of commenting on it (because she’s sure Maki knew how much she loved her and Shuuichi both; it was a family that she would sacrifice countless other worlds for, and they would do the same for her, whether for good or for ill), she chooses to scoop up all of Maki’s silken black hair.

 

She bends down to pick up the scrunchies and moves to tie Maki’s hair back up when she hears her say softly, “don't.”

 

Himiko instead decides to obey the grumbling of her stomach and make a low effort meal. She finds frozen natto in the fridge, tiptoes to pop it in the microwave, and waits, looking at the wavy, hair-like strands of blue that Maki so carefully cards through.

 

She watches as Maki smiles with her eyes closed, content and safe, and that's when the microwave beeps, making Himiko jump.

 

 ☆☆☆

 

The next day, Shuuichi smiles, surprising them with an invitation to someplace private. They take the metro, caps and masks and various glasses over their faces (Himiko wears the mustached ones with overly-large noses, and Shuuichi tries his best not to laugh), and when they reach the sushi place, with their appetizers set in front of them, Maki removes her mask and the hair from her cap, but she doesn't remove the glasses from her face.

 

Shuuichi looks on curiously as he pulls her loose hair out of her face and behind her back, but even though the glasses fog up and Maki can’t see where her mouth should meet the cup of her tea, she refuses to take them off.

 

“If something is on my face, just tell me,” she says, in a softer tone than Himiko thought she was capable of.

 

“Uh, no, it's nothing,” Shuuichi waves his hand. “The glasses look cute on you. Right, Yumeno-san?”

 

“I guess so. Harukawa’s already magical enough on her own, though,” she answers, noting Shuuichi’s soft smile directed to the two of them.

 

Maki nods, a little pleased. “Thank you.”

 

They dig into the tuna platter and when Himiko reaches for Maki’s hand, she doesn’t let go until they have to stand up.

 

☆☆☆

 

The three of them leave the house more and more often.

 

“Yumeno, have you ever wanted to dye your hair?”

 

“Uhh, no,” Himiko replies. “It’s too much effort. Our disguises are enough. And if that doesn't work, I have magic!”

 

Maki chuckles fondly. “You don't have enough MP to get the remote sometimes.”

 

“…mana-conserving tricks, then. Why ask so suddenly, oh inquirious Harukawa?”

 

“…nothing. Pay it no heed.”

 

That night, Himiko wakes up to an emptier bed, only Shuuichi by her side. She feels around for Maki, and when the part of the bed she slaps is cold, she gets up and sees her in the corner of the room, furiously untwining the blue blanket she made as it falls in thick curls above her head.

 

Himiko immediately buries her face in Shuuichi’s rising and falling back and away from Maki’s side of the bed, doing her best not to shake. Tenko would not falter because she would be useful, Tenko would not be a scared little animal searching for someone she would—

 

—her breath evens out.

 

When Himiko wakes up, she’s curled into Maki’s chest.

 

☆☆☆

 

The clothes Himiko takes from Maki's side of the laundry are dark blue in color, with long skirts and shorter socks that stop just barely at the knee.

 

At least the shoes are still brown.

 

☆☆☆

 

One hot summer day, Maki’s hair fans in the breeze. It’s one of the rare days where she doesn't take a curler to make it wave. Himiko prefers it this way, and she calmly brushes out any tangles as they sit around in nothing but their underwear. Or at least the two of them do. Shuuichi never takes off his dress shirt unless absolutely necessary, but he’s in his boxers, quietly applying shaving cream to his legs.

 

After they apply the leave-in conditioner to Maki’s hair, they switch places, with Himiko in front of the fan, and Maki with the brush. She’s basically sitting in the other girl’s lap, and Maki’s chest is pressed into her back.

 

It’s warm, soft, and… large.

 

Himiko blushes, and her nape must be as red as her hair as Maki asks her what’s wrong before Shuuichi enters, freshly showered and ready for hair brushing.

 

Himiko dislodges herself from Maki’s legs a little too quickly, and Shuuichi takes her place, humming a familiar tune.

 

He screams about a girl who died in front of a piano later that night, the jaws clamped shut on her blue corpse, and all the while, Maki hums the same tune to calm him down.

 

Himiko isn’t sure if he’s comforted or not, but he stills all the same.

 

☆☆☆

 

The statement bubbles out from Shuuichi’s mouth before he can clamp it shut.

 

“I didn’t love her.”

 

Himiko looks up from her painting of a loose, fluffy wolf, jade eyes gleaming in the (affected) moonlight. It’s meant to raise its paw, taking a warrior’s stance, but it looks a little less dynamic than it’s meant to be.

 

Maki, however, keeps knitting, but Himiko’s sure she has an ear open.

 

She has to be, but when Shuuichi repeats it himself, surer, that he _never loved her_ , Maki seizes like she saw the dead walk among the living.

 

Himiko gets up and lays a hand on her shoulder without a word of protest from Maki.

 

She rubs it a little bit. Expressing sympathy is always just a little bit awkward, and hopefully she isn’t making it worse. She nervously rubs at the velvety textures of her skirt with her other hand, chewing at her lip, and begs for Maki to just say _something._

 

Maki shifts forward, leaving her hand floating in midair.

 

Shuuichi says, “you should accept it too. We all should if we want to move on from _Danganronpa_. From fiction.”

 

“Maybe I was a little bit more in love with the idea of someone reliable and kind like...Momota-kun,” Maki admits. “Someone so passionate about their interests to the point that they can bring them to life.”

 

Himiko simply nods. It's all she can do. They all know how she feels—felt about Tenko.

 

That, and actually saying anything might make her feel sick again.

 

Shuuichi nods. “Let them rest in the dust where they belong.”

 

☆☆☆

 

It is cold and rainy when they hold the funerals.

 

To kids signing up their lives for imprisonment, there is no way to dispose of the broken bodies torn apart by untimely deaths and merciless executions, but here they are, handling a candle above it all. The glass is warm in Himiko’s hands, and it would be almost comforting if not for the fact that she’s been holding it up for quite a while.

 

Maki told them to go on ahead and make preparations themselves, as there was something she needed to deal with.

 

“Naa, Harukawa? What do you have to do?”

 

That only got her a solid glare in response, but Himiko didn’t hold back.

 

Shuuichi turns her around by the shoulders and leads her out of their apartment, but not before she sees a flash of blue in the corner of her eye.

 

Himiko hates that color more than anything.

 

☆☆☆

 

There are no bodies for the caskets.

 

It’s expected. Nobodies don’t need funerals. Himiko thinks she only cares since she’s one of them.

 

They burn the incense and say their prayers. Himiko can’t look away from Shinguuji Korekiyo’s portrait.

 

They used to be childhood friends, but the only portrait she has of him now is with his face and most of his body cropped out, except for one hand on Himiko’s left shoulder, and Shuuichi’s cold hand on her right.

 

She hasn’t asked Maki to pose in the same way as he did, she thinks. She’ll have to do it later.

 

Maki is unexpectedly later than she should be—when Maki is late it’s only ever a difference of a few minutes, not things like hours—so after some reluctance, she and Shuuichi make their rounds, to place flowers in empty coffins of empty children.

 

Himiko cradles hydrangeas of pride and sagisō of thoughts into her hands, angelic white petals draping over countless blue ones (again), and secures them with a red scrunchie, the kind Maki stopped wearing. She’s somewhat glad Maki isn’t here for a second, because she wouldn’t be able to stand the fond look she was sure she’d give to anything related to _them;_ the mastermind of this killing game who destroyed their lives and replaced them anew, who makes cold Maki smile like she has everything to win and nothing to lose.

 

Himiko stands over Shirogane’s coffin.

 

There are no one-sentence prayers but curses at her lips. She tries to hold herself back, given Shirogane (not Tsumugi, never Tsumugi, that name probably wasn’t even _real—_ ) was still a person who was taken advantage of by the system.

 

But Shuuichi, without her needing to have to say anything, is at her back, lying a careful hand on her shoulder, and he looks at her contorted face and says, “don’t hold back.”

 

She opens the coffin and finds Shirogane’s live, preserved corpse, their eyes closed and a lone gardenia in their hands.

 

“I wish I could have burnt you at the stake myself, you witch,” She murmurs.

 

Himiko, upon realizing that there is an actual _body_  in the coffin, drops the flowers above their peaceful form, screaming and screaming until she can scream no more. Shuuichi shakes and bends in turn, in the throes of a panic attack.

 

Their blue eyes open and their blue hair waves as they sit up in their coffin like they were in the middle of a nap and not a rest more eternal.

 

“That hurts,” they whimper, rubbing at their head. “Why did you have to scream so loudly?”

 

Shuuichi stares at her and Himiko is tempted to scream his thoughts, which are something along the lines of _you should be dead, i saw you killed in front of my eyes_ but instead they stay silent.

 

As they should be.

 

Shirogane looks, pierces through Himiko’s brown eyes. Shuuichi doesn’t exist in that moment even though she can hear his whimpers. It’s just her and…

 

Plastic blue eyes with red cores, stabbing through her heart.

 

 _Oh,_ Himiko thinks, because she cannot think anything else.

 

 _She_ speaks in _their_ voice.

 

 _She_ plays with their hair, blue like the sea and made of strings and yarn, dusts their skirt and stands up.

 

Himiko thinks she knows how Kokichi Ouma must have felt, the dread before they got shot in the arm, small and weak and scared. Not much different than how she used to be, then.

“I enjoyed the time we had,” _she_ said, flipping their hair behind her. “But, my heart belongs to another. I hope you and Saihara can understand.”

 

Himiko wants to scream. She doesn’t understand. She doesn’t get it, why Danganronpa still wants to take away one of the last things she has left. Her reason for smiling, for breathing…

 

Dimly, she wonders if that’s what Shirogane is to _her_ now. That it's why _she_ assumed Shirogane's identity—to live as _them_ , to breathe as though she were _them._

 

This isn’t fair, is all Himiko can repeat in her head. This isn't fair, fair, _fair_ —

 

 _She_ turns their back on Himiko and Shuuichi, black hair trailing under a wig of blue yarn, sure that she will never ever find a place in the world that she lives, sure that Himiko and Shuuichi were worthy of being abandoned.

 

Finally, Himiko knows that she and Shuuichi were the only two survivors that fateful day Season 53 ended—because the day Shirogane Tsumugi died, Harukawa Maki did too.

 

Himiko wakes up from her nightmare the next day in a cold, empty bed, and goes back to sleep.

 

Because in dreams, the ultimate form of magic, there are no illusions of Harukawa Maki leaving her in the guise of Shirogane Tsumugi.

 

**Author's Note:**

> whoops this became more himimaki than anything? i can't control shit im sorry
> 
> as always, thanks to @SeasofRhye for betaing! i owe you my life, like always!!!! bless your fucking soul


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